If Only I Were An Ostrich

Ah. The big breakdown. When things go to hell. What to do, what to do? That is the theme for the next ChronicBabe Blog Carnival.

I have to admit I’m not entirely sure I do deal with those times very well.

I try to hide away first.

Pity party, table for one.

I immerse myself in it. Depressing music. Oh yes. Mr. Manilow is played a lot during these times. ( Yeah, Don’t ask.) Depressing movies are a must. Steel Magnolias. Just the movie for a depressed dialysis patient, no?

For days I do this.

But then…

I get sick of myself.

I get sick of Sally Fields.

A happy song makes it’s way to the playlist. A little Proclaimers. Some Serena Ryder perhaps. A Cary Grant movie just happens to be on. Or maybe Fred Astaire. Things start to look a little better. How can things not with Ginger in those fantastic gowns?

I may make a list when I’m out of the most pressing of the trouble.

That lets things seem less overwhelming, over-powering. More manageable. Putting things into tiny little pieces that can be dealt with one at a time. Instead of the giant mass of ick that it all starts out as in my mind.

I may start to daydream about happy things. New bookcases. Going for a long walk without aches and pains. Going out after 10!
There’s always the one where I am so wealthy I can go to Comic Con and stay at a wonderful hotel with my favorite geeky friends. Oh the dreams!

But I try to keep most within reach. Based in the reality I actually live in.

Many of those I am working on. Slowly. Snail like really. But still…bit by bit.

Then, when I don’t even realized it has happened, I will be sitting on the porch with my ice coffee enjoying the breeze, thinking, that on the whole, life, ain’t so bad after all.

And that is all from a not so unhappy barrel.